


This is a Place Where I Feel at Home

by misslizanne



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslizanne/pseuds/misslizanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Speculation about Emma and Killian's return to Storybrooke from the past (3x21/3x22)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is a Place Where I Feel at Home

“Wait!” Emma shouts as Killian boards the Jolly Roger, intent on fetching yet another trinket to aid in their quest to return to Storybrooke. The ship’s empty and eerily quiet, the crew sent on their way, nothing but the ship’s sails billowing in the gentle sea breeze.

He stills, turning ever so slightly. “Yes, Swan?” he asks, his voice concerned by her tone.

“I’m sorry,” she speaks quietly, recalling the sparkle of true love that shone through her parent’s first meeting, the smug smile that appeared on Killian’s lips when her mother knocked her father out with a rock ( _Look familiar, love?)_  and the tossing and turning of her heart as she realized the man accompanying her was exactly what she’d been looking for all these years.

He turns so he’s facing her completely. “Now really isn’t the time for apologies. Hook— _I_ could wake up at any moment in the captain’s quarters.”

“I know. But I’m sorry… for breaking your heart.”

He waves his good hand in front of him, weak smile growing at the corners of his lips. “’Tis not important, love.”

“No, it is important, Killian,” she argues, his gaze softening at the sound of his real name—his  _true_ name—reverberating like a prayer in the timbre of her subtle voice. “I never had a home. Not until Henry, not until Mary Margaret and David, not until…  _you_.” She shrugs as he moves towards her. “I’m tired of fighting it. I’m tired of pretending like I don’t deserve this.”

Killian’s gaze wanders across the lines of her face, the crinkles near her eyes, the apples of her cheeks. “You do deserve this.”

“And so do you,” she whispers, leaning into his touch as he reaches his hand up to brush a loose strand behind her ear. “I love you.”

His eyes grow wide, the words burning into him like a brand because she  _loves_ him and she’s saying it with words and it’s all he ever dreamed of during those lonely nights in the year without her, those cursed nights when he thought he’d never be worthy of her again, those times he believed the villain in him didn’t deserve a happy ending. He remains silent, hand frozen against her cheek as tears slip from the corners of her eyes.

“Say something, please,” Emma pleads, realizing he’s been quiet for far too long and suddenly the feelings that seemed so easy—so  _true—_ feel lost to the sea air and she wonders if she’s too late, if he’s moved on and she’s nothing more than a friend, a partner in yet another adventure. “Killian, please say someth—”

“Marry me.”

Her mouth forms into a delicate oh, sharply inhaling before grinning widely, eyes sparkling with love and light and hope. “Yes,” she yelps, nodding furiously.

“Once we’re back in Storybr—”

“No,  _now_.” She continues grinning, something she can’t help but do in his presence. “I can’t wait.”

He shakes his head at her ridiculousness. “Who will marry us, Swan?”

“You will, captain.” She winks playfully, and he chuckles under his breath, taking her hand in his and leading her up towards the ship’s helm.

He takes her other hand in his fake one and gleams at her with the brightest expression she’s ever seen grace his face. “Do you, Emma Swan, take me,  _all of me_ , to be your husband? The lieutenant, the captain, the pirate?”

She nods, no longer fighting the love she holds for him, her smile beaming with every feeling she’s denied herself of. “Of course I do.”

He hums, and it’s content and wonderful and she almost forgets it’s her turn.

“Oh, right.” She giggles nervously, the soothing stroke of his thumb against her skin calming her senses. “Do you, Killian Jones, take this savior to be your wife?”

“I do,” he murmurs, leaning in closer. “Now by the power vested in me…”

“As captain of the Jolly Roger,” she finishes, stepping into his space, letting go of his hands to link hers behind his beck.

“I pronounce us husband and wife,” he practically sings, happiness radiating off his person.

“You may kiss the bride,” she taunts, pulling him towards her lips. She can practically feel the electricity in the air, feel the light mounting between them ( _the magic_ , she thinks).

He brushes his lips ever so close to hers. “As you wish.”

She pulls him into her, crashing his lips onto hers, forgetting all that surrounds them, disregarding that they are in the Enchanted Forest, and they’re lost in the past, forced through a time vortex, but all she can think is that she’s finally  _home_. 

They don’t even notice the white burst of light that envelops them, the strong pulse of magic that blasts out from their lips and across the land. She’s too consumed with the feeling of him pressed against her, the touch of his hand at the small of her back, the way his lips move effortlessly against hers.

He pulls back for a moment to take in the swirl of magic around them, smiling down at Emma as she glows white and pink and purple, her own magic returning in dramatic bursts of bright color. He pulls her back into him, kissing her with a ferocity she can only label as  _true love_.

It’s a moment before they realize the shift in the air, no longer the brisk breeze of the Enchanted Forest, but rather a cold nip that smells of driftwood and sea salt and Granny’s French fries. She hears the clearing of a throat, the exasperated murmurs of “Mom” and “Emma” before she breaks from Killian’s lips, eyes still closed.

They hear the hollers from the crowd that has obviously gathered around the savior and her pirate, returning in a spectacular manner only they could achieve, but neither take the initiative to acknowledge it.

“We’re home, Swan,” he mumbles, pressing his forehead against hers, nose brushing lightly across her cheek.

She grins, because this is Storybrooke and she’s wrapped in Killian’s arms and this is her  _home_. This is  _her home_.


End file.
